Farah Way
by StoryPen
Summary: MW '19 AU. Hearts of Gold never rust, but nerves of Steel do. What if Russia sent someone more sensible than a stereotype. When her country told her to invade another in retaliation for terrorism, General Natalia Alexeyeva would do so gladly. In her mind, she was to save a people from evil. Instead, perhaps the famed 'Mother Winter' is the one who needs saving from the evil within.
1. Terrible Resolve

"Wars are begun by frightened men."  
~ Tom Clancy

Terrible Resolve

General Natalia Alexeyeva

Russian Ground Forces

Urzikstan

1999

They overdid it, Alexeyeva realized too late.

When she and her men arrived at the scene, seeing the bloody corpses of civilians, and rescue workers, littering the streets, she grabbed one of her colonels and demanded to know who was the asshole that authorized chemical weaponry. Seeing some of the bodies riddled with bullet holes only enraged her further. What the hell were her men doing?!

She was explicit, to put it mildly, when she told her commanders to not harm civilians. Focus on the real enemy, she told her men – her children – two nights prior to the invasion, do not touch anyone who doesn't fight. She saw their confusion. In their eyes, she had more reason to retaliate than any of them.

It wasn't too long ago, when Russians died at the hands of terrorists. Bombs and bullets taking men, women and children. Intelligence and investigations have led to their small former republic of Urzikstan, where terrorist groups were seen to be running free and a rouge government letting it be. No longer, starting today.

Her countrymen thirsted for blood. She will give it to them, but in her way.

They didn't listen, and here she was.

"My God, General!" Colonel Sergei Balashov grunted behind his gasmask, looking around at the dead. "What have we done?"

"What have those _idiots_ done, Colonel." Alexeyeva took lead, her Kalashnikov at the ready. "I gave strict orders for precision attacks."

"But civilian casualties are to be expected, General!" One of the junior officers stated a-matter-of-factly behind her. "Collateral damage is unavoidable."

Alexeyeva looked over her shoulder at him. "Does _this_ look like collateral damage to you?!"

The officer said nothing and the group continued through the green smoke.

It wasn't long before they reached the first platoon of soldiers, too in gasmasks.

"Keep sweeping the area, gentlemen!" the lieutenant of the platoon shouted. "These stupid terrorist dogs aren't going to kill themselves!"

"You there!" Alexeyeva shouted, pointing at the man. "Are you in charge?"

The lieutenant, and a few of his subordinates, quickly turned to her direction, and snapped to attention. "Yes, General!"

"I want your name!"

"Senior Lieutenant Mikhalkov, ninth platoon, General!" The man saluted.

Alexeyeva angrily returned the salute. "Did I hear you correctly, Lieutenant Mikhalkov?"

The officer said nothing, knowing what he said.

"You are to speak when _spoken_ to, Lieutenant!"

"Ma'am, we are here to fight terrorists and make them pay fo-"

The man didn't finish his sentence before Alexeyeva butted his gut with her rifle, forcing him onto his knees.

"Look at these corpses, Lieutenant!" Alexeyeva shouted, gripping the top of the man's gasmask. "Do these look like terrorists?"

The man didn't answer, as he was too busy struggling to break the General's grip on his mask.

Alexeyeva took notice, and let out a faint grunt. "Frightening, isn't it," she remarked. "A piece of headgear the only thing between you and the gas." She gripped harder. "And these people? They didn't stand a chance."

"General?" Balashov tried to intervene.

Alexeyeva glanced at the man. "Silence, Colonel." She turned back to the lieutenant. "These people are not terrorists. Just. _People_."

The man continued to struggle.

"We do not harm civilians. All it will do it strengthen the enemy's resolve."

"General, you need to stop!" Balashov nearly shouted. "You're going to kill him!"

"No more out of you, Colonel!" The General finally let go.

The lieutenant fell further onto his knees, gripping his mask tightly as he quietly cried.

"You are relieved from your duties, lieutenant." Alexeyeva turned to another officer in her group. "Take this man into custody. I'll decide how best to discipline him."

One of the senior officers saluted, and took the lieutenant away.

Alexeyeva then turned to another of the men. "You the NCO?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"You're in charge now," Alexeyeva stated. "Your men find anything before we showed up?"

"No ma'am," the NCO replied. "But we have a man missing, callsign J-12."

"How the hell is he missing?" Balashov asked. "He's practically a truck!"

"That's exactly what I said, sir," another sergeant added.

"Have your men look for him," Alexeyeva stated. "And aid any civilian you come across."

"But what if they are the enemy, General?"

"If they fucking take up arms, then shoot them!" Alexeyeva shouted. "Otherwise you help the suffering!"

"Right away, ma'am!" The men went on, looking for their man.

Alexeyeva ordered her people to move forward.

They would spend an hour searching through the city before moving along the limits, bordering the countryside. The gas wasn't visible here.

The General's equipment man, Major Mikhail Volkov, had a machine searching for elements of the gas. He raised his fist to stop the group.

"Sensors aren't picking up the gas," he said, removing his mask. He turned to the others. "We're clear."

Everyone removed their masks, breathing not particularly fresh air.

"How long before the gas dissipates?" Alexeyeva asked.

Volkov checked his watch. "Should be two hours from now."

Alexeyeva shook her head. "Bastards."

"We can't help it now, General." Balashov placed his hand on her shoulder.

Alexeyeva said nothing, only checking her weapon.

Suddenly loud pop sounds were heard up the hill before them.

"Gunshots!" Balashov shouted.

"Move, move, move!" Alexeyeva ordered. "Sergeant Banin, take point!"

The General's point man, Sergeant Gregory Banin nodded, rushing ahead.

Her team sprinted up the road behind him, fearing the worst.

At the top of the hill, they saw a truck near poppy fields, abandoned except for two silhouettes on the vehicle.

"It's just a couple of kids, General!" Gregory reported. "What the hell are they doing with the truck?"

"What does it look like, genius?" Senior Sergeant Vasili Ivashov replied. "They're trying to escape!"

Alexeyeva pointed forward. "Stop them!"

Her men rushed forward, the General now taking lead. They ran across the field, with Balashov nearly tripping over something, before Alexeyeva managed to grab the girl. She heard a soft clank of metal striking the ground.

"Let me go!" the child shouted, trying to throw punches at Alexeyeva's face.

"Hey, easy, easy!" Alexeyeva replied, dodging the hits. She set the girl down, grabbing her by the wrists. "You're safe now. We're not going to hurt you!" She turned over her shoulder. "Doctor!"

Captain Roman Antipov ran up, First Aid Kit in hand, and knelt down next to the two before examining the girl. "Possible gas exposure, no symptoms," he coldly remarked. "She and the boy will need medical attention, just to be safe."

Alexeyeva looked at Roman and nodded. "We'll see to that." She turned her head back to the girl. "You'll be okay."

"Colonel!" they heard Gregory shout.

Balashov joined the man a few feet away from the others, seeing what the sergeant saw. "General!"

Alexeyeva stood up, taking the girl's hand, and joined the colonel and sergeant. Laying before them were two of their men, dead. From high-caliber gunshot wounds.

"It's Luka and Vanya," Balashov grunted. "My God."

"Oh wow!" Vasili said behind them. "Look what I found!"

The turned around to see the man picking up a large caliber revolver that was on the ground, next to the truck.

"This is an American Smith and Wesson," Vasili commented. "Fancy gun to be in these parts."

Alexeyeva remembered hearing something hitting the ground near there when she grabbed the child, and put the two and two together. She only wished she hadn't, feeling the rage inside. "Did you do this?" She asked the girl.

The child looked at her, tears forming. "T-they were killing all thos-"

"DID YOU DO THIS?!

The girl began quivering.

"You stupid child!" Alexeyeva screamed. She violently dragged the young girl to the bodies, shoving her at them. "Take a good look at the mess you have done!"

The girl, on her hands and knees, was far too frightened to move.

Alexeyeva grabbed the girl by the head, and forced her to look at the corpses of her men, her children, gunned down by a seven-year-old girl. "Look!"

The girl did, and broke down into tears. She cried, and cried, and cried, as the woman stood over her, looked on by her soldiers.

Hearing her cries suddenly made Alexeyeva relent. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knelt down in front of the child, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Look at me." She now spoke softly.

The girl, still bruised and bleeding, slowly locked gazes with the woman.

"Why?" Alexeyeva asked, doing everything to keep back her rage, and instead channeling motherly concern. "Why did you shoot these men?"

The girl whimpered. She slowly raised her hand and pointed at the bodies. "They were killing everybody!" Farah cried out, pointing out to the barn in the distance. "They were going to hurt my brother and me, too," she continued through her weeping. "They killed my baba."

Alexeyeva embraced the girl, gently brushing her hair. She looked over her shoulder, seeing her man watching. She signaled them to go forward to the barn, with Balashov taking lead.

"They killed my baba," the girl repeated, her tears being felt on the General's shoulder.

Alexeyeva tried to comfort her. "You're going to be okay." She let go, and looked at the child, making a gentle smile. "What's your name?"

"Farah."

Alexeyeva nodded. "A beautiful name." Her smile died. "A shame it was tarnished by what has happened today."

The child, Farah, said nothing.

"I can't undo what I have done," Alexeyeva continued. "But I will do everything in my power to atone for it."

The child wanted to say more, but hesitated.

"Yes?"

The girl looked at her in the eye. "What will you do to me?"

Frankly, Alexeyeva didn't dare say, she'd rather beat this girl into submission for taking her men from her. God knows she deserves worse. However, this girl, Farah, reminded her too much of someone important. Someone who motivated her to come here, to this god-forsaken country, to bring back order to those who have lost it. This one requires discipline, but it won't be achieved through violence.

Instead, she stood up, taking the girl in her arms. She then turned to her men. "Take a good look at this child, comrades." Her voice now filled with anger.

Her men stood at attention.

"This one has killed two of your brothers, because your commanders were far too blinded by retaliation instead of liberation." She walked back to the truck with Farah still in her hands. The other child, a boy, who was with Farah earlier struggled to break free of the soldiers holding him.

"Let go of her you monster!" He shouted. "Give me back my sister!"

"I'll shut him up, General!" One of her soldiers said.

"You will do no such thing, Sergeant!" Alexeyeva barked. "Do so, and I will have you arrested."

The soldier quickly nodded, looking away sheepishly. "O-oh, of course, General, my, my mistake."

Alexeyeva set Farah down on the truck bed. The two siblings quickly reached for each other, holding themselves in fear.

Once one of her men finished securing the children and closed the back of the same truck they tried to use for escape, Alexeyeva leaned on the door, a look of pity on her face as she stared at the two.

"I want you to think long and hard of what you have done here," she said, being careful to be only patronizing, and not enraged. "You have lost your father, I understand." She looked over her shoulder, looking at her dead men being prepared to be moved. "But now someone else has lost a father today." She banged on the door, and the truck began to drive off. "We will meet again!"

As the truck disappeared down the hill, another commander, Colonel Viktor Glazkov was running up the hill.

"General," the man was out of breath.

"Viktor." The two exchanged salutes.

"It's worse than we thought, Natalia."

Alexeyeva tightened her fists. It was never good if someone under her addressed her by name.

"The bombings have nearly leveled the city, and the Nova gas damn well nearly finished the job. We killed a lot of civilians, and patrols are turning up nothing in terms of weapons or enemy men."

Balashov also returned with his men, with several more in tow. "Hey, Viktor," he said, shaking hands with the other Colonel. "You alright?"

Glazkov nodded.

Balashov then turned to the General. "The girl was right." He turned to the new soldiers they picked up. "We found these guys with a lot of dead civilians, all executed. We didn't find any evidence of weapons or anything of that nature."

Alexeyeva stared at the man for a few moments, then at the others who were suddenly looking away. She then unclipped her helmet before taking it off, revealing waving blood red hair with signs of graying at the roots. "Disarm these men, immediately!"

Balashov nodded, and relayed the order. The men were stripped of their weapons in seconds.

"I want the names of every officer and enlisted man responsible for this treachery." Her voice now cool and collected. Everyone knew she was just about ready to explode. No one could blame her.

"General!" One of the disarmed soldiers shouted. "My men were killed in the ambush, two days ago! Have you forgotten?!"

Alexeyeva glared at him as she approached. "And what did these 'terrorists' over there do to you to deserve execution without trial."

"These animals need to be taught a-"

Alexeyeva smashed her helmet into the man's face, forcing him onto his back where she continued beating him to a bloody pulp.

It took three men to pull her off.

"For God's sake, general!" Balashov shouted, holding his commander back. "Get a hold of yourself!"

"I taught you people _better_ than that!" She shouted. "How the _fuck_ are we supposed to win their hearts and minds when _we_ are the animals!" She stopped struggling, hanging her head as she caught her breath.

She tapped on Balashov's arm, and was let go. She sniffed before brushing her hair back over her shoulder.

The downed man was slowly helped back up.

Alexeyeva then pointed to the accused parties. "You are _all_ under arrest, pending court-martial." She turned to her men. "Take them away!"

Her officers and NCOs quickly grabbed hold of the men and took them back down the hill.

She turned around and walked a few steps towards the chaos and destruction laid wake in the city. She took in the scenery of green and white smoke and ruin. "Call Moscow," she said to Glazkov, now returned to her calm and cool self. "I want investigators here before the week is over."

Glazkov saluted. "Right away, General."

"You won't be stepping down?" Balashov asked. "A lot of people are going to blame you for this."

Alexeyeva turned away and back to her people. "Our resolve was a terrible one today," she said, putting her helmet back on. "We have a duty to these people now."


	2. After Action

After Action

23 AUG 1999 – 1030

General Natalia Alexeyeva

Russian Ground Forces

Sakhra, Urzikstan

The top floor of the command headquarters for the Russian forces in Urzikstan made for a decent view, had it not been for the ruins of the capital city, desperate civilians being given food rations, and Russian vehicles driving from place to place on patrol.

Alexeyeva wanted to enjoy her first cup of jasmine tea of the day, but found the taste bitter from looking into the world below her. The news playing on the television behind her, to which Colonel Viktor Glazkov was actively watching, didn't help matters.

The broadcast was in British English, recounting the events in the town they were in just days earlier. How her men used chemical weapons, the blatant killings of civilians, the brutality of it all. How all of it was _true_. Her heart grew cold as the realization set in.

"I wouldn't worry too much, General," Glazkov commented, arms crossed. "Some snob in Moscow will find a way to spin the story in our favor somehow."

Alexeyeva scoffed, taking a sip from her mug.

"Well, I did just say 'not _too_ much'." Glazkov gave a snide chuckle. "I agree we need to take responsibility for our actions."

Alexeyeva walked back to the table. "The lack of it. I could've stopped my boys from committing the atrocities." She set down her mug next to the tea pot and stared down at the map of Urzikstan laid out on the table.

Scribbled against the paper, were red circles of suspected enemy held towns with numbers and phonetic letters. Chess pieces standing in for her units and perceived enemy ones were placed accordingly. Almost a board game, she noticed. On the upper right corner of the map, taped, stapled, and stabbed, was a small note: 'Remember Chechnya! Remember Afghanistan!'

"Meh," Glazkov grunted. "We still ought to be grateful."

The General sat down, a grim expression on her face. "Is that so?" She leaned over the table.

Glazkov shrugged. "Imagine if we stood by our principles, and admitted to wrong doing." He spun his chair to face her, a jaded smile on his face. "The last thing we want is _Barkov_ to be given back his command."

Alexeyeva simply stared at him, a blank expression on her face.

The broadcast then cut to the Urzik president, Yasir Al-Fulani, who was giving a press conference at the capital building just several blocks away. He was expressing his gratitude for the Russian troops arriving to assist in bringing in the perpetrators of the Saint Petersburg bombings to justice.

"That's not funny, Viktor." Alexeyeva shook her head.

"Wasn't trying to joke, General."

Before she could reply, the two heard the door open and shut, with footsteps approaching. Looking up, they saw Colonel Balashov walking with a thick file folder under his arm. At the table, he saluted the General, who returned the favor.

"We finished with the final death-count, General," Balashov began, setting down the folder.

Alexeyeva frowned. "And?"

Balashov closed his eyes and sighed.

"You can sit, Sergei," she told him, gesturing at the spare seat. She poured him a cup of tea.

Balashov nodded, sitting next to Glazkov. He took the mug and drank for a moment.

"Above two-thousand deaths, Natasha," he began, gripping his cup. "That is almost a _quarter_ of the city the men blatantly killed while taking Riyzabbi." He then glared at Alexeyeva. "A good majority of it was from Nova Six, General."

Alexeyeva quickly took the folder and opened it. Inside were after-action reports from officers and NCOs, as well as the investigators she had called for, photographs of dead civilians in various states of decay, excerpts of intercepted civilian communications and miscellaneous details.

"Thankfully we only lost about fifty men," Balashov continued, "_if_ you count the pending court-martials. Regardless." Balashov tossed his headwear onto the table, a disgusted look on his face. "Segregating the Nova deaths from the conventional ones had proven, uh –" He pursed his lips. "– difficult."

"My God," Glazkov muttered. "We will _hang_ for this."

Alexeyeva's face wrinkled as it tightened. "We deserve worse." She looked up from the folder. "All this, just because twenty of my men were killed just days prior." She buried her fingers into her hair.

"If it is any consolation, General," Balashov continued, "we did manage to evacuate and then quarantine the city."

"But now we have countless refugees in need of homes and supplies," Alexeyeva retorted.

Balashov shrugged. "It is better than staying in that God-forsaken place."

"Agreed," Glazkov concurred.

Alexeyeva sat back and rubbed her hands hard against her face.

"Are you alright, General?" Balashov asked.

"I am sorry, Sergei." She took another sip of her tea. "I have not slept well since we invaded."

Balashov took another breath, rubbing the back of his head before he took a sip of his own. "I didn't want to say it but –" He paused for a second, quickly glancing at Glazkov. "We heard some yelling from your room last night."

Alexeyeva sat back in her chair and couldn't help but let out a short, small, laugh. "You heard that?"

Balashov, with a worried look, nodded.

Alexeyeva slowly closed the folder, and raised her feet onto the table. "I still have nightmares of what we did in Chechnya." She interlaced her fingers. "And here I thought we learned."

Balashov frowned. "Apparently not."

"No," Alexeyeva concurred. "We haven't."

Glazkov crossed his legs. "Well, _we_ have, but the men –"

"The men look up to _us_ for guidance, to _me_," Alexeyeva added for her Colonel. She turned her chair towards the window, taking in the chaotic view. "And _I_ have failed to guide them to make good, moral, choices. To not succumb to rage."

"You did _not_ order those actions, General," Glazkov reminded her.

Alexeyeva made a faint smile. "I may as well have, Viktor."

The three said nothing more for another few minutes.

"I want to see the children."

Balashov and Glazkov looked at each other before back to their General.

"What for?" Balashov asked.

Alexeyeva spun her chair again, taking her feet off the table. "It's not right, gentlemen." She rested her hands on the table. "No child should be forced to raise arms, even in self-defense."

Balashov nodded. "I can't imagine what went through that girl's mind when she pulled the trigger."

Glazkov scratched his cheek. "Well, I know _exactly_ what our boys are thinking right this second."

"None of them are to be anywhere near the children," Alexeyeva stated. "Not until this blows over."

"They're secured in confinement," Glazkov reported, "awaiting debriefing."

Balashov scoffed. "'Debriefing', he says." He crossed his arms. "They are not soldiers, nor terrorists."

"You don't think I know that?" Glazkov retorted. "But they're not safe here, we need to –"

"Where the hell would you send them, Viktor? _Could_?"

"That's enough from the both of you, gentlemen," Alexeyeva interrupted. She sat further back in her seat. "This is not the first time we needed to deal with something like this." Alexeyeva sipped her tea again.

Balashov nodded. "Chechnya."

Alexeyeva looked up, a thoughtful look on her face as she took sudden interest in the ceiling fan. "I was thinking Angola, actually."

Glazkov cringed. "Good God, don't remind me." He shook his head. "Between child soldiers and that Nicaraguan bastard, I never want to go back there."

Alexeyeva kept staring off into the ceiling's fan, watching it spin.

"If you want to see the children," Balashov continued, "I'll arrange for it."

"Please," Alexeyeva replied.

…

Camp Shoygu was a rushed job, and it showed. Formerly a carcass of a former NATO base of a by-gone era, many of the buildings were in a dilapidated state from a decade of neglect. Some no longer had plumbing or working electricity. Engineers were working as fast as they could but already stretched thin trying to restore local infrastructure, there was much still needed to be done.

The drive to the base's infirmary, one of the few working buildings, was a short but grueling one through the country's heat of a dying summer.

The infirmary itself was full of Russian military and civilian doctors, as well as local Urzik help. Their patients were of both soldiers and civilians, ranging from the trivial cough, to those few who survived the newer 'B' strain of Nova Six.

As they walked through the halls, Alexeyeva and her colonels noticed everyone in their unit saluting them, even those who struggled to stand. The civilian patients only showed contempt. The General couldn't blame them. Not at all.

The trio reached the back of the building, where the medical staff set up the intensive care unit.

There, they found Captain Roman Antipov, now in medical attire as he oversaw the care of a disfigured patient that survived Nova Six 'B'. He was taking notes on his clipboard when he saw the trio.

Alexeyeva looked at the patient first, who had tubes forced into their throat to ensure breathing. Hundreds of little blisters had formed across the person's face, some having burst, releasing puss. One of the eyes was missing, the hole covered by bandages.

Instantly, the General felt nauseous at the sight of such blight. The pain this person must be suffering; would they even survive the night, would they want to? She pondered for a few seconds before she pressed the thought out of her mind.

Instead, she took hold of the person's hand, trying to provide comfort. The person's grip was weak, but the look in their eye said everything.

"The only silver lining is that Nova is not contagious," Antipov randomly commented, who was still writing.

Balashov scoffed. "I'm sure that makes the victims feel a _whole_ lot better."

"Like I said, Colonel," Antipov kept at his writing, "the _only_ silver lining."

"We're here to see the children," Alexeyeva said, not taking her hand away from the victim.

Antipov nodded. "They're a few halls down."

Alexeyeva finally looked over her shoulder. "How are they?"

The Captain tisked. "They won't eat, nor speak." Antipov looked up from his clipboard, and shrugged. "Other than calling me every name in the book when I tried to examine them."

"Must be doing a good job then, yeah?" Glazkov joked.

Antipov scoffed. "They're all yours, General. Just go easy on them."

Alexeyeva gave one last, sympathetic, look at the victim before gently letting go. "How are they?"

Antipov slapped his pen onto his clipboard. "Shaken, to put it mildly." He led them down the hall. "They were not exposed to Nova, thank God." He handed the General a pack of hand-wipes from his pocket. "But they will have something far deeper than physical damage."

Alexeyeva grimaced at the thought as she cleaned her hands. They still felt dirty.

The good doctor led them to a room of holding cells a few halls down, where the trio saw the children behind glass and metal. Both were huddled together on the only cot in the room, eyeing their 'captors' with nothing but fear in their eyes.

The only guard posted there had no weapon, as per the General's direct order. The look of indifference, however, showed lack of sympathy.

"For God's sake," Balashov commented. "We should at least give them a better place to stay."

Glazkov scoffed. "Most of the men have little in the way of commodities, and you want to give two local children, one of whom shot and killed two of their brothers, a 'better place'?"

"Viktor." Alexeyeva looked over her shoulder.

Glazkov shook his head. "Like you said, General," he replied, crossing his arms. "It's not right for children to fight."

Alexeyeva noted the guard again. She could tell he wanted to have his say. She would not let him. "Get me whatever you can from the cafeteria, corporal," she told the man.

The man saluted and walked off. A few moments later, he returned with a tray of two glasses of water, and a plate of tuna sandwiches which were haphazardly put together.

"Thank you, corporal." She looked at the contents. It will have to do, Alexeyeva didn't say out loud as she took the tray. "Unlock the door and let them out." She then gave a firm look at her men. "Then _leave_. _All_ of you."

The guard did as directed, unlocking and opening the cell door. Then, with a salute, left the room with the others in tow, leaving the General with the two children.

The children were reluctant to leave the cell, probably finding it more comforting than the open space outside.

The General frowned before trying to relax. She has to remember to keep her demeanor 'kid-friendly'. For some reason she suddenly remembered how her father, and her men, would at times call her 'Mother Winter'. She had children of her own, after all. It shouldn't be too difficult.

"I won't hurt either of you," she called out. She set the plate on the table that was in the center of the room. "At least eat something, for god's sake."

The two finally, albeit slowly, exited the cell, and sat at the other end of the table.

Alexeyeva slowly sat down across from the children before slowly leaning forward, fingers interlaced on the table. "The doctor says you children aren't eating." She slid the plate to them.

"It's poison," the boy sneered.

"It's hospital food." Alexeyeva rolled her eyes, her tone sarcastic. "Of course it is."

The children said nothing, simply staring at her.

"Well," Alexeyeva continued, shrugging. She picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. "I'll eat. Shame to waste."

The two said nothing as she chewed, looking away as she did.

"Just shake hands with the devil!" The boy muttered.

Alexeyeva stopped chewing before glancing at him. She smiled. "It's 'go to hell', actually," she said with her mouth full. She swallowed and took another bite. "Which is a very rude thing to say to someone who is offering you a sandwich."

"You can torture us all you want, you monster!" the boy shouted.

Alexeyeva pulled her smile wider. "Oh I have already begun," she said playfully. She waved the bitten sandwich. "It's the infamous 'Tuna Torture'."

The boy raised an eyebrow and exchanged looks with his sister.

"I saw it on TV once." Alexeyeva shrugged again. She lifted the plate, waving it in front of them. "Last chance."

The boy sniffed before slowly taking the plate and sharing the food with his sibling.

After waiting for a few moments, Alexeyeva nodded. "I can only imagine how terrified you both are." She looked at the girl, still smiling.

The girl recoiled back.

Alexeyeva was for a moment confused, but then remembered. Her face expressing sorrow. "I remember you, Farah, and I am sorry for how I treated you the other day." She extended her hand. "Perhaps we should start anew."

The girl looked away. Not in fear, Alexeyeva noticed, but perhaps in shame.

"My name's Natasha," the General added. She turned to the boy. "What about you?"

Neither child spoke, simply looking at one another, as if wondering what to do.

"Hadir," the girl muttered. "His name is Hadir."

"Sister!" the brother nearly shouted.

Alexeyeva nodded. "Well, it's very nice to meet you." She extended out her hand further.

"Please don't hurt us," Farah muttered.

Alexeyeva kept her smile as she retracted her arm. "You are both guests here, child," she spoke with the best soothing voice she could fake. She didn't want to frighten them any more than she or her men already had. "I would never do such a thing."

She waited for the children to finish before asking her questions.

When they did, the boy, Hadir, placed the plate back on the table.

The General nodded. "I can imagine what you're both going through right now." She brought back the plate closer to herself. "And I am truly sorry for the loss of your parents."

"You hate us," Hadir muttered. The fire in his eyes made Alexeyeva's heart sink with sorrow.

"Why do you say this?"

Hadir pointed at the door. "Your soldiers talk, about how they want to kill us. Calling us little _terrorists_."

Alexeyeva frowned. "The men are angry, and they have a right to be." She turned to the girl. "As much as you had a right to defend yourselves." She took a deep breath. "Forget them." She sat back in her chair. "Is there anyone we can contact to take you in their care? Grandparents, relatives? Friends, even?"

The children said nothing, only shaking their heads.

Alexeyeva hung her head. "No one, huh?"

"That's because you killed them!" Hadir shouted again. "We don't have a home anymore!"

Alexeyeva kept her cool, half-expecting the outburst. The child was right, after all.

Many widows, many orphans. Many childless parents, like herself.

She raised her head, and looked at the boy. The fire in his eyes will not die, and the last thing she needed was this boy to grow up and _eventually_ retaliate.

Retaliation breeds retaliation; she saw this time and again not only since the invasion, but throughout her entire career.

The girl was a different story. The General speculated that this one did not fully grasp of what was happening. Or perhaps she _did_, and was good at not showing it. Either way, the girl knew what she was doing when she pulled the trigger on two of the General's men. It reminded the woman of her own first kills, in Chile in 1973, at seventeen. As sickening as it sounded, that was one thing they had in common.

They will grow up to truly fight back, if she doesn't do something now. She has her chance to break this cycle, at least with them.

These were children, after all. All alone, and no one to take care of them, simply guided by instinct and hatred.

She looked at the children, and made her decision.


	3. Commander's Intent

Commander's Intent

30 AUG 1999 – 0921

Kate Laswell

Central Intelligence Agency (embedded with US Embassy)

Sakhra, Urzikstan

"I'm surprised that Russkiy is even letting us talk to her," Barney Davidson, US Ambassador to Urzikstan, commented as their driver made a turn at the intersection. "Let alone _invite_ us."

"It was really Al-Fulani, sir," Phillip Carter, his assistant, remarked as he slouched in his seat. "Still betting this is a PR stunt. Trying to justify this entire operation."

Kate Laswell, officially an attaché for the Embassy, sitting next to Carter, stared off into the distance through the bulletproof glass. The citizens were staring at them. Some, children, were playfully chasing the vehicle, as if unaware of the broken world they occupied. Then there were others, disheveled, broken, wondering about in a daze. In one street, they saw Russian soldiers struggling to hand out supplies to a sea of beggars and the desperate.

"Hey, Laswell," Davidson interrupted her thoughts, "stay focused."

Laswell took herself from the view and shook her head. "Sorry, sir." She took another look at the thin folder containing the Russian general's dossier. At least everything the CIA had on her.

Laswell reopened it for the hundredth time, taking in all the few details while glancing at the picture of the Russian General. It has been about a month since the Russians steamrolled into Urzikstan like it was 1979. In that time, Laswell observed, it had been one crisis after another. The gas attack and subsequent civilian killings in some no name village was just an exclamation point to a terrible thirty days. Since then, the Russians seemed to have stopped in their advance, instead holding positions in territories they control. Russian newsreels suggest that they were now trying to undo the damage they had done but it all played out like propaganda.

"She's up to something," Laswell suddenly stated, thinking to herself out loud.

Davidson crossed his arms. "That's what you're here to find out," he reminded her.

Their car, getting past checkpoint after checkpoint, eventually pulled up at the front entrance to the capital building.

Stepping out, Laswell saw the luxurious décor in the lobby through the tall glass walls. It was more of a palace than anything else, she silently noted.

"Let's go kids," Davidson said, leading them into the building.

Once they had identified themselves, and the paperwork in order, the guardsmen of the building escorted the trio towards the Office of the President of Urzikstan.

The decadence that Laswell noted was made all the more apparent. Lush vegetation with a large marble fountain in the center of the lobby. Beautiful artwork from around the world that must have cost a fortune occupied the walls.

"Nice place," Carter commented to Laswell.

The embedded CIA officer made no response.

Reaching the fifth and top floor, the trio were led through two large polished wooden doors with golden frames and handles.

Inside, they were met with a large office that could've belonged to a king: white furniture, glass table, exotic rugs and a moderate, but lovingly made, oak desk. The only thing that was missing was a larger than life painting of the big man himself.

Speak of the devil, Laswell didn't say out loud, there he was.

Sitting at the middle couch was President Al-Fulani, the newly installed head of Urzikstan, reading a newspaper. He was well dressed in a tan pressed suit, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and thick framed glasses.

Then there was _her_. The General, commanding officer of all Russian forces in the country, sat with her leg crossed in her dress uniform. She was on the couch perpendicular to the President's, reading a book. She also had a headset on, jacked into an old Sony Walkman cassette player.

She was the first to notice, at first slowly pulling back on her headset before turning off the player. Al-Fulani was a close second, looking up and the folding his newspaper. The General set aside her book and device and stood up, buttoning up her jacket. Al-Fulani did the same.

Laswell took a quick glance at the book the General was reading.

"Good morning, Mister President," Davidson said, shaking hands with Al-Fulani.

"A good morning to you too, Mister Ambassador," Al-Fulani replied. "And I truly appreciate you coming on such short notice."

"Pleasure was all ours, sir," Davidson continued. He glanced at the General, who was standing at attention. "Not everyday we're allowed to talk with the foreign commanding officer of a whole theater during a major invasion."

"Yes, where are my manners." Al-Fulani gestured to the Russian. "Gentlemen, lady," he said, "allow me to introduce you to my guest of honor: General Natalia Vladimirovna Alexeyeva."

Laswell finally had the perfect look at her subject.

The woman was a head shorter than she was; had blood red hair tied back, following regulations; and had the sharpest blue eyes she had ever seen. Laswell also noticed graying and wrinkles and a fatigued posture that most likely came from years of experience. The profile stated the Russian was in her mid forties, she looked older. What was that book she was reading, Laswell suddenly asked herself, eyeing the object on the couch.

"Mister Ambassador," were the Russian's first words, spoken with British and Russian accents meshed together. She shook hands with the trio.

"General," Davidson replied. He pointed at his two companions. "This is Phil Carter, my aide, and this is –"

"Hey, I know this book," Laswell commented, picking up the novel. While the words were in Cyrillic, she recognized the cover art. "This is 'Roadside', soviet sci-fi."

The General slowly turned her head towards Laswell. The CIA officer felt the Russian's cold arctic blue eyes piercing her soul.

"Yes, a favored classic of mine." The General raised an eyebrow. "I am surprised you know of it." She then made a warm smile. "My apologies, you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…"

Laswell felt her eyes widen as she stretched out her arm, suddenly feeling out of her depth. "Oh, I'm Kate Laswell, education attaché at the embassy."

The General's face lit up at this as they shook hands. "I see, and, what experience do you have in that field?"

Before Laswell could say anything, Davidson loudly cleared his throat.

"You'll have to forgive Kate, she is brand new to the _game_ of politics." The man made a snide look at Laswell, who felt herself cringe for jumping the gun.

Stupid, stupid, she silently told herself.

The General shrugged. "That is alright, we all have to start somewhere."

"Speaking of which," Al-Fulani interjected, "I think we should begin."

Davidson nodded. "We're not exactly sure why you have singled us out to be here today, General," he remarked as everyone sat down. "Surely anything you have to say to us would've sufficed in a press conference."

The General made a faint smile. "I'm not the sort that likes to make public appearances."

"Why's that?"

"I don't like big crowds."

"Very funny." Davidson made no attempt to hide his contempt. "You should know that the people of the United States –"

"Your _government_, Ambassador," the General gently, yet firmly, interrupted, raising her hand, "not your people. They don't care much."

Davidson frowned. "We do _not_ take kindly to unprovoked invasions."

"This was _very_ much provoked," the General argued. "Surely you too would invade a hostile nation responsible for wrong-doing against your people?"

Davidson's squinted his eyes. "Does that include using chemical weapons?"

The General's left eye twitched. "Against my orders, sir," she stated, answering the implicated question. "It is currently being investigated. This is an internal matter." She briefly glanced at Al-Fulani before back to the Ambassador. "We have since evacuated the populace, and taken measures to ensure no one enters that city until it has been decontaminated."

Davidson didn't seem impressed. "Aren't you quite the humanitarian,"

The General scoffed. "I am _not_ a humanitarian," she retorted. She then leaned forward, a stern look on her face. "I kill people for a living."

Laswell felt a shiver go up her spine while no one said anything for a few seconds. Other than a small cough, it was dead silent.

Then Al-Fulani cleared his throat. "If we are finished with the dramatics, General, Mister Ambassador."

"You are not my first choice, Mister Ambassador," the General continued, sitting back in her seat. "Everything I am telling you, I was hoping to have told the British instead." She glanced at Al-Fulani again before back to the Ambassador. "Seeing that they have evacuated after my country entered Urzikstan, your people are the only ones left."

"Flattered," Davidson deadpanned.

"If you don't mind my asking, General Alexeyeva," Laswell began, "what is it about the British that makes you prefer them over us." She made a friendly smile. "Other than your accent."

…

"Well, that was a waste of time," Davidson commented as they exited the building, an hour later. "Just the same boilerplate crap I expected to hear." He turned to Laswell. "First impressions?"

"You mean the Russian?" Laswell thought for a moment. "She's weird, to be honest. Not how I expected a military officer to act."

Davidson nodded. "Yeah, I felt the same way."

Suddenly, just as they were prepared to get in the car, they heard another vehicle pull up behind theirs. Looking, they saw a Russian military officer get out and approach them.

"Miss Laswell?" The man asked.

Laswell glanced at Davidson before back to the Russian soldier. "Yes, that's me."

The man nodded. "I'm Colonel Balashov, I answer directly to General Alexeyeva and she has instructed me to escort you to her office at our headquarters, it is down the street from here."

Laswell made another look at Davidson. "What for, colonel?"

"Wouldn't say, just that it was important."

"No, offense, colonel," Davidson cut in, "but I ain't exactly all too keen on sending my people out by their lonesome."

"It's alright Mister Ambassador," Laswell said to Davidson. "I'll go."

"_Kate_," Davidson sternly replied, pointing at her. "You're playing with fire."

"Mister Ambassador," the Colonel continued. "I can assure you, we will protect Miss Laswell with our lives. General Alexeyeva insists that she speaks with her."

The three said nothing, but Laswell knew that Davidson was thinking.

With a grumble, Davidson approached the Colonel. "Anything happens to this woman, _anything_, and I will send Marines to kick your ass."

The Colonel stood firm. "Not before my commanding officer executes me first."

Davidson nodded. "Alright then." He turned to Laswell. "You got the ball, Kate, stay safe and see you soon."

Laswell gave a smile before joining the Russian colonel at his car. She hesitated at first, but boarded. The driver quickly drove off towards the Russian headquarters.

"Don't worry, madam," the Colonel said. "It should be about half an hour before we take you back."

They entered the Russian base a few minutes later, with the Colonel escorting the woman through the main court yard.

Laswell saw some of the soldiers stopping what they were doing, hearing them whistle and make comments in their mother tongue. Their perverted grins made it easier to figure out what they were thinking, but no less unsettling.

"Just boys far away from home," the colonel told her. "I'm sure your soldiers are no different."

Laswell still stared at the soldiers as she walked. "Uh yeah," she muttered, distracted. "Sure."

The two entered the main building, seeing officers and enlisted men going about their business. They reached the top floor quickly, and it wasn't long before they reached the General's office. Inside, they found a little girl on the floor in the middle of the room, drawing something on paper with crayons. She was quietly humming to herself.

The Colonel checked his watch. "Alexeyeva is still on her way, and will be here shortly." He looked at Laswell. "Be good to the child while you're waiting." With that, the man left, leaving the door open.

Laswell turned to the girl, unsure if she should say anything and instead began pacing back and forth. Seeing the inside of the office, she quickly pegged the General to be a minimalist, seeing only basic furniture and virtually no commodities outside of the AC and a basic television set. Even the chair behind the desk was worn and ugly.

"You're here to talk to the Russian lady?" The girl suddenly asked.

Laswell stopped to look at her, seeing the girl looking right back. It was a moment before she made herself smile. "Yes."

The child said nothing else and returned to her drawing.

Curiosity got the better of the CIA officer and she approached the child. She leaned over her, grinning. "What's you name, sweetie?"

The little girl was shy at first, looking away sheepishly, but finally let out a smile. "I'm Farah." She stood up. She was dressed in a simple white t-shirt stained with colors, brown trousers, and simple shoes.

"Nice to meet you." The two shook hands. "I'm Kate."

"You are from America?"

Laswell nodded. "I am."

"It must be nice there." Her smile died. "Not like here where everything is broken and dirty."

Laswell nodded, trying to maintain her smile as she got on her knees to be at eye level. "Are they treating you nicely here?"

Farah nodded. "The Russian lady is nice, but she's a little mean if someone upsets her. She and her two friends try to protect me and my brother from the other soldiers. No one else seems to be nice."

"Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking? It seems a little odd to find kids running around an army base. Where are your parents?"

The girl now had a saddened look, looking at her right foot twisting against the carpeted floor. "Oh, my parents are gone." She raised her head. "But the Russian lady is taking care of me and my brother."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Adoption." Laswell recognized the General's voice.

Turning around, she saw the woman standing right behind her, startling and nearly throwing the young intelligence officer off balance.

"Apologies if I scared you," the General said.

"It's alright," Laswell replied, standing up.

The General smiled before walking over to the child. "I see you met little Farah." She patted the girl on the head. "Behaving yourself?" She asked the child.

Farah nodded. She handed her drawing to the General. "I drew this for you."

The General's face lit up. "Did you now?" She knelt down and gently took hold of the paper before looking at it.

Laswell leaned over the General's shoulder but couldn't get a good look.

"It's wonderful, Farah, thank you." She hugged the girl. "Keep drawing, and you just might be the next Savrasov."

Farah smiled back. "I'm glad you like it."

"Everything you make is special, little one." The General continued, speaking softly. She then patted the girl on the cheek. "Now run along, and find your big brother. Lunch will be ready soon."

Farah nodded. She looked at Laswell. "Bye Kate. It was nice to meet you." She then ran off waving, closing the door behind her.

Laswell couldn't help but smile. "Sweet kid," she commented.

The General stood up, the drawing still in her hands. "She and her brother were covered in blood and bruises when we caught them trying to steal one of our lorries." The General turned back to Laswell, her expression grim. "She killed two soldiers guarding it with nothing but a revolver."

Laswell suddenly felt sick. "Oh my God," she muttered, covering her mouth. "She's so young."

"My men want their heads." The General sighed. "Youth can't protect you out here, I'm afraid." She looked down the drawing. "Just a stupid soul who can't really stomach a child's death, or telling them their art is rubbish."

"Are you a mother, General?" Laswell asked, making a sympathetic look.

The General made no emotion as she looked up to her, saying nothing before leading the American to the back of the office.

"Please sit," the General told her as she walked up to the window, setting down the drawing on the table.

Laswell eyed one of the seats before the desk. "I'll stand, if that's alright."

"As you wish." The General kept her stare against the outside world as she unbuttoned her jacket.

The two said nothing for a moment, instead the ambient noise of soldiers and vehicles outside playing a muffled tune.

"I can tell you the time it is in Langley," the General commented. She looked over her shoulder, glancing at the younger woman. She then looked back out. "But not the weather." She turned around completely and walked by her desk. "How was it, when you left?"

Laswell felt her heart skip a beat. "I, uh, I don't know what yo–"

The General reached into her jacket and pulled out a weapon – an old looking revolver – cocked the hammer, and aimed it at her.

Laswell quickly raised her hands, backing up. "Jesus Christ. What the hell are you doing?" She breathed.

"Lie to your Ambassador to your heart's content," the General boasted. "Lie to the world, lie to your loved ones." She took another step, her arctic blue eyes glinting from the overhead lights. "But do _not_ lie to _me_," she hissed.

Laswell forced her mouth to keep closed, her hands still raised.

"I will ask you only once: are you CIA?"

Laswell knew she was made and she was dead either way. The Russian just wanted a confession. Reluctantly, she slowly nodded her head.

The General's expression loosened and she quickly de-cocked her revolver before lowering it. "I appreciate your honesty." She walked back to her desk, setting down her weapon on Farah's drawing. "Now we can talk business." She took off her dress jacket before pouring herself tea. "Please, Miss Laswell, we have much to go over."

Laswell simply stood there, her hands still raised and heart still beating rapidly. What the hell just happened, she didn't ask out loud.

The General shook her head. "Forgive my theatrics, Miss Laswell." She sipped a bit. "But I wanted to make clear on my _disdain_ of spies."

Laswell felt a frightened laugh come out of mouth. "D-disdain, huh." Her legs barely got her to the nearest chair. "That's what you call it?"

The General smirked. "Smert shpionam." She finished her tea. "Death to Spies."

Laswell felt cold sweat forming on her forehead.

The General poured tea for the other cup. "Please, my treat."

Laswell quickly took the cup and drank half in an instant. "I'm an officer, not a spy."

The General poured herself another cup. "Oh I'm _well_ aware of the semantics, Miss Laswell."

"If you hate spies so much, why did you bring me here if not kill me?"

The General laughed. "In your case, it'd be a waste of a good bullet as well as an unnecessary international incident." She took another sip. "You will suit a better purpose."

Laswell forced a smile that came out broken. "You want me to spy on my own people."

The General's expression suddenly dimmed just before sipping. "One thing I despise more than spies are traitors." She set down her cup. "If I _ever_ catch you betraying your own people, especially for _my_ country, I will spare your government the headache, and shoot you myself."

Laswell's hand trembled as she tried to take a sip of her drink.

"Steel yourself, CIA, you have a long career ahead of you," the General continued. She opened a drawer to her desk and pulled out a stack of papers in a manila folder. She slid it across the table. "This information, I was barely able to get cleared for release. Known terrorist cells and their formations as well as after-action reports from my soldiers that were made after combat encounters." She leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "I think Langley will be quite pleased with this and give them a better understanding of the situation my men face."

Laswell took the stack, skepticism taking control of her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Make no mistake, Miss Laswell," the General stated, shaking her head, "this is not out of the kindness of my heart. I expect a return."

Laswell frowned. "What do you want then?"

"Cooperation."

"I have no authority to do –"

"Then I suggest talk to the ones that do," the General interrupted. "I am here to fight terrorists on the behalf of both Russian and Urzik governments. I do not want another Afghanistan and I most _certainly_ do _not_ want another Mujahedeen."

Laswell didn't respond, only looking at this newfound information just simply given to her.

"Your country needs the truth, to make better judgments than some stupid analyst who has read too many thriller books."

Laswell shot up her head, a determined look on her face. "As one of my mentors told me: 'Truth is only the interpretation of evidence'," she pointed her finger at the General in a matter-of-factly way, "and that's _only_ of what we can get our hands on."

"Then take what I am giving you, Miss Laswell." The General sighed. "I am aware of the ambiguity of 'truth', as it has been a dangerous word in my country for decades." She took another sip. "I did _not_ bring my men, my _children_, all the way to this god forsaken land to commit mass murder and _that_ is the truth. Interpret it how you will."

The two said nothing more for another few minutes. As they could hear the clock ticking through the sounds of the broken world outside, the two drank their tea in silence.

"If nothing else," the General continued, "with the whole world watching me and my men, it allows for your people to act on my information with anonymity."

Laswell made another cracked smile. "You mean we'll be doing your dirty work for you."

The General smirked and shrugged. "I would prefer to have things done 'in-house', as you Westerners say. I'd also prefer asking the British, but you will have to do." She sipped her tea. "We both stand to gain much with this newfound partnership. An expedient end to this 'war' will be good for everyone." She pushed aside her weapon to look at the drawing again. "Just remember that enough lives were ruined already."

Laswell nodded before standing up. "I'll see what I can do, General Alexeyeva."

"Please, it's Natasha," the General replied.

The two shook hands.

"Only Natalia if the situation is terrible." She then cocked her head. "Or if you are my mother."

Laswell couldn't help but laugh a little. As she began to walk away, she stopped and looked back once more. "How'd you know I was with Langley?"

The General smiled. "You have that look," she answered as she sat down. "The wide-eyed fear-fueled enthusiasm most young intelligence officers have." She sat back in her seat. "I remember when I had that, first joining KGB."

Laswell raised an eyebrow. "Your profile said GRU."

Alexeyeva nodded. "I was seventeen when I was with KGB, lasted a year before I was discharged and went back to school. All buried, of course."

Laswell raised an eyebrow. "S-seventeen?!"

The General nodded again. She spun her chair to look out the window. "I decided to become a chemistry teacher after graduating." She made a quiet laugh. "I only taught for about two or so months in my first semester before the war in Afghanistan broke out. I was given a position in GRU, and then was accepted into their Spetsnaz program." She spun again. "Duty calls."

Laswell said nothing, only trying to read her Russian adversary, to swallow all of this new information. Assuming any of it was true.

The General stood up again, loosening her tie before picking up her sidearm. "I do hope we can cooperate in this country," she stated with a frown. She examined her weapon before holstering it. "Otherwise, I could not begin to give an estimate as to how long my people will be here."

Laswell slowly nodded, unsure of what to say. With that, she made her hasty departure from the office, refusing to look back again.

Outside was the Russian colonel who escorted her.

"So," Colonel Balashov asked as he led her back, "what are your thoughts?"

Laswell took the deepest breath she ever had. "Well, she's not like most generals."

Balashov made a friendly smile. "Actually, I don't think she's like most _people_."

Laswell looked at him funny. "Is that so?"

Balashov shrugged, opening another door for the CIA officer. "There was supposed to be another general spearheading the invasion." Balashov stopped, taking a quick look around. Seeing that no one was near by, he continued. "General Alexeyeva went to great lengths to see to it that she would be the one invading."

Laswell raised an eyebrow. "Can't be any worse than someone who allowed civilian killings."

Balashov frowned. "She _didn't_ allow anything of the sort and punished the soldiers that did it, _and_ is trying to make amends." His frown deepened. "But you _don't_ know the man she replaced."

As the Colonel led Laswell back out, she couldn't help but think things over. She looked at the stack again, realizing that a General of a foreign army, with a deep background in intelligence herself, had just handed her a treasure trove of information. A cardinal sin in the intelligence community.

Then again, this _was_ an exchange. The Russians give them intel and the Americans stayed out of the way. Hell, they'd do a little bit of terrorist hunting themselves, and give the General a reason to leave sooner.

Laswell then remembered the little girl, Farah, and how her life was ripped apart. Many more people are going to be destroyed if she can't help bring a quick end to this nightmare.

The General was right, Laswell realized. She was in for a long career.


	4. Hell's Highway

Hell's Highway

13 SEP 1999 – 1640

Corporal Vladimir R.A. Makarov

Russian Ground Forces

Sakhra, Urzikstan

He would've shot the damned children if Mother Winter hadn't so eagerly stripped him of his weapons. Having to babysit them all day, everyday, made it all the more unbearable. He was even told by the General to make food for them at one point! Was this a joke?! Was he to suffer as their butt-monkey?! That was probably the General's grand plan, the twenty-something thought to himself, as he adjusted his footing on the edge of a small impromptu soccer field. And to think, Makarov mused, Mother Winter was supposed to be some kind of legend in the military. At least, that was the word on the street.

Corporal Vladimir Makarov could only stand there, guarding the very pair of rotten children he wanted to kill. He wanted to avenge not just two of his friends that were shot by the girl, but also his parents and brother who were killed in Leningrad – well, now Saint Petersburg – from the bombings two years prior.

He could see it, _smell_ it, even now. Himself on the ground at Palace Square, his brother a mangled corpse, and his parents partially disintegrated. He was mostly unhurt.

Makarov had to count himself lucky: he managed to walk away with one eye changed green instead of arctic blue. The day he was discharged from the hospital, he walked straight to the recruiter's office. It wasn't long before he and his countrymen found themselves in this country so far south of home, and the comrades he cared about started dying.

'Luck', Makarov realized, was not the right word.

He then heard the children giggling amongst themselves as they played soccer, and felt his teeth begin to grit.

They'll pay, he told himself. They all will.

Before he could continue dwelling, he heard footsteps approaching. Turning his head, he saw General Alexeyeva walking up to him. He quickly snapped to attention and saluted. The General responded in kind before standing next to him, watching the children continue playing.

"General," Makarov said.

"Corporal."

The two watched the children in silence for a few minutes.

The General reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She then took one out and gave Makarov another.

"I understand your pain, Vova." Alexeyeva lit her cigarette before doing the same for Makarov.

The corporal took a deep drag before letting out smoke. "So why have me as their designated babysitter?" The anger in his voice was clear.

Alexeyeva said nothing before pulling out her cassette player off her belt, jacking in her earbuds. She handed the right end to Makarov and they both began to listen to a song about a pack of cigarettes.

"I saw that Balabanov movie a few days after what happened, while in the hospital," Makarov commented, taking another drag. "I was supposed to have seen it with my brother later that month." He frowned, still eyeing the children. "But that film was _empowering_. Taking on the enemy, to save someone you care about, and nothing stopping you."

He heard the General make a quiet grunt. He looked over to her, confused.

The General, looking exhausted as she too watched the children, let out a puff. "Do you even know how that film ended?"

Makarov said nothing, only sighing.

"There are no happy endings," Alexeyeva continued, "especially when the things we do get people hurt or killed, especially when we believe our actions to be just. Failure to avoid atrocities will only drive everyone to hate you. This campaign proves it." She turned to Makarov. "I hope someday, you will understand this."

They kept watching.

"This country is an evil place, General Alexeyeva," Makarov commented. He eyed the children, hearing their laughs. "Even the kids become evil."

"And so will the rest of us, if we stay too long." Alexeyeva dropped her nearly finished cigarette. "No matter what happens, Vladimir Romanovich," she added as she stomped it out, "never let that evil consume you, as it has so many of your brothers."

Suddenly, the soccer ball the children were playing with rolled up to Makarov's boot.

The girl ran up to them. "Sorry, sorry," she said, a look of sorrow and fear on her face. She and Makarov exchanged looks.

He took off the earbud, tempted to kick the ball in her face, but the girl's brother approached before he gave any real thought to it.

The boy quickly picked up the ball, and took a few paces back, dragging his sister with him.

The four simply stood there for a few minutes before the girl's face lit up. "Want to join us?" She asked the two.

"Sister!" the boy nearly shouted. "They don't want to play! Let's not bother them."

Makarov and the General exchanged looks. The latter smiled.

"Of course." General Alexeyeva did not looked away from him. "But I haven't played in years, and I'm old, so I won't be a worthy opponent." She took a step forward.

"We'll play fair!" the girl replied.

The general nodded and turned to Makarov. "Care to join us, Corporal?"

Makarov gritted his teeth behind his closed lips, his arms crossed. He stole a glance at the girl, who had that hopeful look about her. The way she smiled nearly disgusted him. He then took a deep breath. "Sure, General."

The girl grinned while the boy frowned and rolled his eyes as the two returned to the field to set up.

As Makarov tried to follow them, he felt the General grab him by the arm.

There was a gentle smile on the woman's lips. "Play nice, Vladimir Romanovich." The look in her eyes was of a different demeanor.

Makarov understood the message, and nodded. "Of course, General." His arm was let go and the two joined the children.

As they approached, Alexeyeva raised a finger.

"Let's make this fair," she said. She pointed to Makarov. "Join Farah, play as goalie." She then looked at the boy. "Hadir, I'll join you."

The children looked at each other, then back to the Russians, and nodded.

The four played for about ten minutes, with the children pitted against each other and attempting to score goals whenever they could.

It might have been his imagination, Makarov wondered, but it looked as if the General was deliberately letting the girl score. Whatever, he told himself, she'll just be in for a rude awakening later in life. Much like how it was for him.

The girl's brother suddenly intercepted the ball and shot a goal just before Makarov could react. He shot a look over his shoulder, seeing the ball strain against the netting before landing next to his feet.

Holy crap, he didn't say out loud. The boy was pretty good.

"Wow," the General called from the other side, "what a shot, Hadir! Good show."

The girl patted the boy on the back, grinning. "Good job, brother!"

The boy was smiling too. He then looked at Makarov, and his smile died as soon as it was brought to life.

Makarov forced a smile, suddenly feeling pity for the child. He then felt what he considered unthinkable: he was actually beginning to enjoy playing with the children.

What the hell, he asked himself, nearly disgusted. To think, these two were responsible for gunning down two of his friends. Reluctantly, and stoically, he gave a thumb up to the boy, who replied with a grin.

He should just punch the kid in the face, Makarov figured. Then he gave some thought to the General's words.

"General Alexeyeva," they heard a voice shouting. "General Alexeyeva!"

Turning, they saw one of their men, Makarov identified him as Colonel Glazkov, one of the General's senior officers, rushing towards them.

"Yes, Colonel?" Alexeyeva asked the man.

Glazkov saluted. "We just got word about Al-Asad!"

The General looked over her shoulder to Makarov and then back to Glazkov. "Viktor," she said to the Colonel, "watch the children, will you?"

The Colonel saluted. "Sure thing, General."

"Follow me, Corporal Makarov," Alexeyeva said to the twenty-something.

…

The base's operations center was as crudely set up as the base itself. Military computers and television sets from a by-gone era had been set up not long after the invasion. Operators were at their stations, monitoring their instruments, taking notes and reporting as needed.

When Alexeyeva and Makarov entered, the woman was immediately saluted by the sentries at the entrance. The latter had never been in the room before.

"Why did you bring me here, General?" Makarov asked her.

The General looked over her shoulder as they walked. "We've been tracking a man named Al-Asad ever since we invaded. Slippery little bastard, that one."

The found themselves standing over a large table with a map detailing the country. A major highway leading out of the capital city had been circled. An arrow was drawn, leading away from the city.

"Al-Asad, General?" Makarov asked. He recognized the name.

"Used to be Al-Fulani's right hand up until a number of years ago," Alexeyeva explained. "Supposed mastermind behind the bombings in Saint Petersburg, one of the major reasons we're here."

Makarov nodded. Yes, he remembered, the bastard who took away his family and brought him here. He felt a smirk forming on his lips. Looks like the tables had turned.

"Wipe away that smile, Corporal," the General said coolly. "If we can capture him, he will be brought to stand trial."

Makarov's smirk died. "But he's responsible for –"

"I _know_ what he has done, Corporal," the General snapped, jabbing her finger at him. Her expression stiffened as she took a deep breath. "Believe me, I know." She turned to another officer, this one being Colonel Balashov. "What's the situation?" she asked him.

"Al-Fulani's intel was good, General, and we have a helicopter following what could be Al-Asad's convoy," the Colonel explained. He then turned to the screens, which showed a live black and white feed from the Mi-17. "But there are a lot of civilians on his side of the highway and we have a sandstorm fast approaching."

Makarov eyed the monitors, recognizing the terrain on screen. "General, there are mountains beyond the highway," he stated. "Many places to hide."

Alexeyeva nodded. "We can expect that, yes."

"We have a flight of Su-30s in the air already, ready to prosecute targets," Balashov reported.

"Prosecute?" Makarov asked. He then snickered. "What happened to capturing him?"

"Just in case," Alexeyeva replied.

_"This is Sokol-1,"_ a voice buzzed through the radio, belonging to the helicopter pilot. _"We have visual on the vehicles, and are flying closer for a better view, over."_

"Affirmative, Sokol," a radio operator replied.

They waited a few more minutes.

Makarov could see the General sitting down and leaning over the map table, scratching away at her interlaced fingertips. The others were just as tense as they watched the live feed.

"_Taking fire!"_ Sokol reported.

"Say again?" the operator asked quickly.

_"I say again, we are taking fire from the vehicles. These must be who we're looking for!"_

"Understood," the radio operator replied. He turned to the senior officers.

"It's one under-equipped squad and an unarmed helicopter against a company of enemy men," Alexeyeva stated, arms crossed. "When can I have a reaction force mobilized?" She glanced at Balashov with a determined look.

"Not before that storm hits. In less than ten minutes, those guys will disappear." Balashov tensed up, eyeing the General.

Everyone else were staring at the screens, watching the unknown vehicles race down the road, past civilian traffic. The large cloud of sand was fast approaching the convoy.

"Order the strike, Colonel."

Balashov shot a look at the General. "Natalia, we have civilians down there–"

Alexeyeva slowly looked up from the screens and locked eyes with Balashov's, her stern look clear as day. "If Al-Asad escapes, there is no guarantee we will find him again, and many more will die," she retorted. "At least now we can ensure precision strikes." She returned her view to the video feed. "We can't take the chance. Do it."

Balashov hesitated before nodding to the communications officer.

"Mosin, Velvet Actual says you are go mission," the officer radioed the fighters. "I say again, you are go mission."

_"Affirmative, Baseplate. Safeties off, out."_

"We just took a page from the American playbook," Balashov commented, hanging his head. "And created our own Highway of Death."

Alexeyeva didn't take her eyes off the screen, her fingers still interlaced. "That remains to be seen, Colonel."

For a few moments, they all could hear chatter amongst the pilots, as they got into position for a strike.

_"Weapons free!"_ the lead pilot's voice shouted through the intercoms. One of the plane's cameras transmitted images of another's bombs separating themselves from the aircraft.

The next several seconds felt nothing but an eternity.

Alexeyeva buried her head into her hands just as the bombs struck their targets.

_"Good splash on targets, Baseplate!"_ The pilot reported. _"My flight is RTB, out."_

No one said anything as they watched the chaos unfold on the monitors. Fires, secondary explosions, what looked like ignited silhouettes of people almost dancing as the flames consumed them.

"Send in search and rescue teams to save those still alive," Alexeyeva muttered, still buried in her hands.

…

The ride inside the BMP was quiet with the exception of the storms outside. Makarov expected something more lively. Chances are, he figured, that they just bagged a major leader in the terrorists' forces. They ought to be celebrating.

Is this how the General's inner circle functions, he asked himself. For a group of handpicked officers and enlisted men entrusted to advise the General, they sure acted all doom and gloom.

"Any vehicles escape?" Sergeant Gregory Banin asked.

"Nothing we saw from aerial recon, and no radio interception at all," Major Mikhail Volkov replied.

Banin nodded.

"We're approaching the site now!" The BMP driver shouted over the roaring of the engine. "My god, those flyboys did a number on these guys."

"Masks on," Alexeyeva ordered, reaching for her gas mask. "No idea what we'll be breathing!"

Her group acknowledged before donning their protective gear.

Their BMP stopped and the team got out, with Makarov taking the lead. He found himself filled with horror as to what he saw.

Around them was what could only be described as a slice of hell. Through the sandstorm, they saw the target vehicles burning, screams of the damned echoing from their charred hulls. Those who were 'lucky' to have escaped the death traps, were themselves alight. Rolling back and forth to snuff the flames off their bodies and clothing, to no avail.

Makarov felt someone push past him, then seeing the General taking point.

"Fire extinguishers!" one of the other troops shouted in the distance as the team walked by. "Do we have any goddamned fire extinguishers?!"

"A few back in the vehicles," another shouted back, "but we don't have nearly enough to save these people!"

Looking over his shoulder, Makarov found Colonel Balashov vomiting on the side of the road. He grimaced at the sight as he kept moving.

The General signaled for her men to halt, and they did. Something was approaching them, slowly. Through the smoke and sand, they watched a silhouette crawling towards them. It was a woman. She looked like a zombie right out of a horror movie, her skin burned to a crisp, her hair almost gone, her right eye destroyed, leaving behind a hole.

Alexeyeva signaled for both Makarov and Captain Antipov to join her as they approached the woman.

Makarov could smell the flesh going through his mask as Antipov examined the victim. He then began to feel nauseous.

After a few moments, Antipov looked up at the General and shook his head before he slowly returned to the others, leaving the other two behind.

"What now?" Makarov asked the General.

Alexeyeva simply stared into the remaining eye of the woman, who was still struggling to move.

As Makarov waited for an answer, he looked over his shoulder, watching the vehicles burning.

"Something's not right," he heard Banin comment as they watched the fire. "These other cars, they don't look military."

Glazkov walked up next to him, stared off into the wreckage, and nodded. "You're right, they're civilian."

Makarov glanced at the Colonel, curious.

"Holy hell," Banin said as panic filled his voice, "don't tell me we just shot up a bunch of civilians!" He turned to the man completely. "Goddamn it! What the hell is this?! How many people did we kill?!"

Alexeyeva, almost in a daze, was still staring at the charred body. She reached out to the woman, and grabbed her hand, pulling her close.

Colonel Balashov quickly walked up to the two, standing over the gruesome scene. "A few of the men are trying to extinguish as much of the fires as possible." He shook his head. "With any luck, we'll have survivors."

The General simply nodded.

"Help me," the woman croaked. "Please, help me."

"You're going to be okay," Alexeyeva replied, stroking what remained of the woman's hair. "Does it hurt?"

The woman said nothing, her arms going limp.

Makarov and Alexeyeva simply knelt there, staring at the freshly burnt corpse, their breaths through the respirators the only sound beyond the fires. Balashov simply looked away.

"Aren't we looking for Al-Asad. Terrorists?" Makarov growled, standing up. "Let's just leave these nobodies and keep looking to make sure he's dead!"

Alexeyeva said nothing, instead gently placed down the body back onto the asphalt.

"Didn't you hear me, General!?"

"That's enough!" It was Glazkov, now approaching them. "You do not talk to your superiors like that, Corporal Makarov." He shoved the man back with his rifle. "Understood?!"

"I don't think we're going to find him, Vova," the General replied, slowly standing up.

Makarov could see through the General's dead eyes through her visor.

"Put them down," she told them.

Balashov leaned forward. "What?!"

The General fists clenched before turning around to face her men.

"Put. Them. Down," she repeated in a calmest voice Makarov has ever heard. "We can't save these people. Put them out of their misery, and do so _humanely_. Have the bodies tagged and bagged for proper burial."

Balashov's jaw became slightly ajar. "Are you kidding me?" he asked.

Alexeyeva frowned, her eyes squinting behind the visor. "We're going to make these terrorists pay for getting these civilians caught in the cross-fire." With that, the General simply walked away, her head hung.

"That's it?" Balashov asked, his voice rising. He tried to walk up to the General before Glazkov grabbed him by his uniform. "We just bombed innocent people, massacred them, and now you want us to finish the job like two-bit scumbags?!"

Glazkov pushed him back.

"This is your fault, God damn you!" Balashov shouted after the General.

"That's enough, Sergei!" Glazkov shouted back.

"She turned us into fucking _murderers_!"

…

Gun shots rang through the night.

The fires were still ablaze as more trucks arrived, with soldiers disembarking to assist with 'recovery'. With them, they carried body bags and fire extinguishers.

Makarov zipped up the first body into its bag by daybreak. It was the woman who died in the General's arms. Crouching over the cadaver, he frowned as he looked on along the long line of corpses waiting to be bagged. He should be proud to have seen the destruction of enemy forces from superior firepower. Truth was, he felt nothing. From across the highway, he saw the General in the distance, kneeling down next to a body and examining it. She then did something he would've considered ritualistic. Probably just giving a few kind words, or some such nonsense, he figured. He then stood up, rifle in hand, his frown deepening.

So much for avoiding more atrocities, he remarked.


End file.
